I refer readers to John Quinn’s previous review of
this disc for fulsome information on the background to The Vision of Judgement
and some first-hand knowledge on the actual genesis of the recording. I’m
more of a newbie to these works, having heard of Peter Racine Fricker but
not being familiar with his oeuvre, so I’ve set out on this in the spirit
of entirely new discovery.

Paul Conway’s booklet notes open with comment on “the extreme
vicissitudes of celebrity, critical acclaim and popular taste” with
regard to the decline in Fricker’s profile after the 1950s. At the time
he was commissioned to compose an oratorio for the 1958 Leeds Triennial Festival
his star was very much in the ascendant, and you can sense this is a work
into which Fricker threw just about everything.

The Vision of Judgment is uncompromisingly tough and gritty, but
without turning its back on the audience. Fricker “was among the first
composers in Britain to be influenced by the music of Bela Bartók, Arnold
Schoenberg and Igor Stravinsky”, and while his personal style is paramount,
a recognition of this wider sphere is key to understanding the musical language
in this work. ‘Englishness’ is here too, but rarely if ever in
that immediately recognisable idiom around the music of most pre-WWII UK concert
music. Freed from these sorts of expectations, the expression and drama in
The Vision of Judgement snaps into place quite clearly.

Fricker never wrote an opera, but there is much that is operatic about The
Vision of Judgement. The balance between choral and orchestral weight
and solo characterisation and narrative would have to swing a good deal for
this oratorio to be considered anything other than what it is, but the dramatic
rise and fall and feel of onward-pushing narrative is also palpable. The music
has a descriptive or pictorial function, but the images rarely slow down let
alone stand still, and the whole thing is more often turbulent and even precipitate
than it is reflective or static. Fricker is too restless with his themes and
text settings to allow for stately unfolding, or to take up the opportunity
to have everything stop for a ‘hit’ aria or some set-piece abstraction.
The tenor’s big solo Then it shall come to pass is uneasy in
its imagery as it is in its vocal lines, though the final bars form a sublime
apotheosis that softens us up for the choral Libera me that forms
the emotional heart of the work. Despite the doom-laden content, the ultimate
message is one of hope: Theirs is the home that never shall know end.
Fricker holds onto his tensions right to the end, setting the text with no
lapses into sentimentality and delivering his finale with some remarkably
triumphant gestures and a sound that must have been breathtaking in the live
venue. The performance is magnificent though not without the occasional moments
where vertical alignment may have wobbled just a little. The balance is also
surprisingly good, though the brass instruments have some advantages in terms
of clarity. The recording betrays one or two moments where the limits of the
analogue equipment are being approached or mildly overshot, but the general
impression is of high BBC standards at work.

With the mono recorded Fifth Symphony we do have to accept certain
limitations in terms of sound quality, though the qualities in the work and
the performance still come through well enough. This work was commissioned
for the 25th anniversary of the Royal Festival Hall, and his inclusion
of the venue’s organ was essential from the start: “The thought
of having that organ sitting there doing nothing was repugnant to me.”

This is by no means an organ concerto, though its part is a significant one
and you would be excused for thinking of the work in this way at several moments.
In some ways the symphony might be considered as more of a ‘concerto
for orchestra’, with its effective and indeed often spectacular use
of each orchestral section. The dedication “to the many fine musicians
with whom I have had the pleasure of working so happily in the Royal Festival
Hall” reinforces this impression of a work that is as much a celebration
of the orchestra and organ as it is of the specific venue. One might imagine
certain crowd-pleasing London-based themes being thrown in for such a work,
but Fricker sticks to his own personal musical guns, throwing out a virtuoso
compositional spectacle that deserves a Hi-Fi renaissance after this introduction.
The performance is powerfully led by Colin Davis, though there are a couple
of quieter moments where intonation proves to be an issue. Like small cracks
on valuable antique pottery such imperfections can easily be overlooked, and
the experience as a whole is of greater significance than any minor glitches
inherited from the concert environment.

On this showing, Peter Racine Fricker’s music is powerful and impressive,
and though by no means ‘easy listening’ is also far from having
the impression of being difficult or unapproachable to the extent given by
many mid-20th century creations. Lyrita’s releases from its
founder Richard Itter’s own recorded archive go from strength to strength,
and we can but hope that these and other mighty but forgotten works will re-emerge
in more frequent modern performances as a result of having their profiles
raised via this medium.